made some point when i said
'this is it'
and wished for these to be my
most impactful words

so pressing pushed the sunlight
against our cheeks on heavy days,
our own reflections had become
mere strangers with
the warmth long gone and wild minds racing,
despair made us colluders,
we rushed and did not mind the
bleeding cuts on our arms when
we broke through the butcher’s window
to grab
her useful tools.
these streets, we thought, were made
for sadness,
but violence too they bear.

the viscera of happy people
are prettier indeed
we clung to little somber knives
and made those ******* bleed

deeds eviscerated
/ clawing weakness
sloppy cuts /
willpower destructive
present featureless

thoughts enunciated
/ piercing sharpness
sloppy cuts /
likelihood delusive
future unresolved

feelings elongated
/ lasting bleakness
sloppy cuts /
sanity depleted
memories absurd

he thought he
could declare himself
depressed and gain a sense
of closure

but labels only reach so far
and feelings so much farther

is it
just me
or has the air been getting thinner
recently

we slide through times
of nothing really
they’re delicate reminders –
i grew up learning cycles
with outlines hard to break

we vanish further –
unsurprising –
intentions fading footnotes
without the strength to leap
we’re shapeless
intermissions

the quiet ones for worse
caressed yet empty-handed
and waiting
with no end in sight